


pretty as a peach and twice as sweet

by wintercaps



Series: sweet [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Age Regression, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hair Braiding, M/M, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17166812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercaps/pseuds/wintercaps
Summary: Back when they were younger, Steve and Bucky had quickly realised that Jamie wasn’t always the same age. He’d been young that first time, and from there he’d varied from a year to somewhere around the eight years mark. Bucky became Jamie when he needed Steve to take care of him, and Jamie became however old he needed to be to let Steve take care of him.Jamie at five is good — Steve knows exactly how to handle Jamie at five. Sweet but stubborn, he flourishes under his Daddy’s affection while pouting up a storm at everything else. Steve loves his baby no matter how old he is, but he has a soft spot for five year old Jamie.





	pretty as a peach and twice as sweet

**Author's Note:**

> bucky regresses to deal with trauma and other things he struggles with. when he was younger it was to help him handle work and later the war and other things in his life that felt too hard for him to process on his own. thus, jamie, needing his daddy to help take care of him. bucky’s regression is entirely nonsexual.

“ _Daddy._ ”

Steve jolts awake at the hiss in his ear. Even before the serum, he’d always been a light sleeper — the constant threat of his lungs failing on him had been enough to scare him into waking up at the drop of a hat or a rattle in his chest. Now, post-serum and seventy years into the future, it has a lot more to do with his inability to fall asleep and _stay_ asleep, his mind constantly racing over the day’s events, his eternal state of terror that an alarm is going to go off at any second and drag him out of the warmth of his bed.

Steve hears the hiss of breath, and he’s already thinking of escape routes and alarms and wondering why Bucky was the one to wake him, rather than FRIDAY. Tony had gone to the trouble of programming the AI into the security system at the apartment they’d chosen; if there were any breaches, FRIDAY should have been aware of them long before Bucky had the chance.

Bucky shakes his shoulder, hissing “Daddy!” again, sounding a lot — whinier this time.

Steve definitely doesn’t miss it this time. He blinks for a moment. He hasn’t heard that name said in that voice since…….since the night before the fall.

“Daddy, wake _up.”_

Steve blinks the last of the sleep out of his eyes as he turns to where Bucky is still pressed against his side. He takes one look at Bucky and oh, that…….isn’t Bucky.

It’s Jamie, without a doubt. The pout, the grumpy angle of his eyebrows, the softness of his voice. That’s all Jamie.

For a moment, Steve is thrown. He’s sixteen and they’re in Steve’s room since his mom is at work and Bucky is on his knees, not for the first time and certainly not the last, but it’s _different_ from how it usually is — he isn’t reaching for Steve’s belt or mouthing at the front of his slacks, he’s just…….kneeling there, swaying forward to press his face into Steve’s hip, eyes soft in a way Steve’s never seen before. Steve had said “Buck?” and Bucky had frowned, pressing his forehead into the sharp cut of Steve’s hipbone. He’d shaken his head, eyes closed, brows furrowed, looking so _distressed_ that Steve’s heart had ached.

He’d brushed Bucky’s hair back from his eyes, soft from where the pomade had been worn out of it, and his heart felt fit to burst at the way Bucky had pressed forward into the touch. The lines of worry had disappeared from between his brows and his lips were parted so sweetly and he’d absolutely melted against Steve. He’d asked what Bucky had wanted, and Bucky had gone tense against him again, silent for several minutes as Steve ran his hands through his hair, over his jaw, down his neck, across the wonderful width of his shoulders. He’d finally choked out “daddy”, face burning as he hid it against Steve’s thigh. Steve hadn’t missed the way his voice had trembled and broken on the word.

It was the first time Steve had met Jamie, even though they hadn’t known it was Jamie at that point. Steve had coaxed him onto his bed and held his sweet boy for hours, till the sun had long since dipped out of sight and Sarah was due home at any moment. Bucky had eventually pulled his face out of Steve’s chest, where he’d been hiding, and the embarrassment was all Bucky. They’d talked after that, a few days later, once they’d both had time to think over what had happened. Steve was Bucky’s sweetheart and vice versa, and Steve was Jamie’s daddy.

Steve blinks again and he’s back in bed in the 21st century. He takes a moment to adjust, then smiles, “hi, baby. What’s got you up at this time, huh?”

And Steve sees the moment of relief on little Jamie’s face, just a flicker of Bucky, before he nuzzles into Steve’s shoulder and mumbles, “had a bad dream, Daddy.”

“You had a bad dream, huh, sweetheart?” Steve lets Jamie snuggle back up against his chest, curling himself up to be little in a way that Bucky never could even if he tried. “You wanna talk about it?”

Jamie’s hand curls tight into Steve’s shirt where it rests upon his chest, and Steve’s quickly soothes, “or you just wanna cuddle with Daddy for a while, angel? That’s okay, too. Daddy’s missed cuddling with his little boy, y’know.”

Jamie lets out the breath he’d been holding at the thought of having to talk about his nightmares. His muscles have already turned from toughened-soldier hard into little-boy soft, and he nuzzles into the crook of Steve’s neck. “Missed you, too, Daddy.”

“Can you do me a favor, sweet boy? Can you tell me how old you are?”

Jamie squirms against him for a moment, making a distressed sound. Steve rubs a hand down Jamie’s back and feels the tension drain out of him at the touch.

After a moment, Jamie holds up the hand that had been resting on Steve’s chest. It’s his right hand — his other one is tucked close to his chest. Steve sees that he’s holding up all five fingers.

“Thank you for telling me, Jamie.” Steve brushes a kiss against Jamie’s forehead and watches the shy dip in his gaze even as a smile spreads.

Back when they were younger, Steve and Bucky had quickly realised that Jamie wasn’t always the same age. He’d been _young_ that first time, and from there he’d varied from a year to somewhere around the eight years mark. Bucky became Jamie when he needed Steve to take care of him, and Jamie became however old he needed to be to _let_ Steve take care of him.

Jamie at five is good — Steve knows exactly how to handle Jamie at five. Sweet but stubborn, he flourishes under his Daddy’s affection while pouting up a storm at everything else. Steve loves his baby no matter how old he is, but he has a soft spot for five year old Jamie.

“Do you think you can get back to sleep, angel?” Steve asks, checking his phone for the time. It reads 3:57am and he frowns; his baby really shouldn’t be up at this time.

Jamie makes a sleepy, considering noise, before nodding.

“What a good boy.” Steve coos, curling onto his side. Jamie easily cuddles into his chest, feet pressing into Steve’s thighs. He’s so sweet, trying to make himself all small. God, Steve adores him.

Jamie slips a thumb into his mouth — the left one, Steve notices, heart softening. Maybe Jamie doesn’t have the same hangups about his arm that Bucky does — and mumbles something that Steve doesn’t catch, but he’s out before Steve can ask him to repeat himself.

Steve doesn’t know whether he’s going to wake up beside Jamie or Bucky, but he’s looking forward to it either way.

 

—

 

This time, Steve is woken up with a loud, wet kiss against his cheek. He scrunches his nose, squinting an eye open. Jamie leans over him, grinning. His eyes are bright and his smile is young and crooked, and he’s tried to tie his hair back. It’s barely held in place by the hairband that loosely ties it all together at the base of his neck, strands of hair spilling everywhere.

The room is bathed in the soft golden glow of early morning, light pouring in through the glass doors leading to the balcony. Bucky usually preferred the curtains closed. The fact that they were open meant that Jamie had opened them himself.

“Morning!” Jamie leans in to press another kiss against Steve’s cheek, this one dry, as he makes a loud _mwah!_ sound.

Steve takes a moment to press his smile into his pillow, before lifting his head. “Good morning, sweet boy. Have you been up long?”

Jamie puffs up his cheeks as he rocks back away from Steve. He settles on the bed next to Steve’s chest, legs crossed. “Not really. I didn’t wanna wake you, since you were sleepin’ and daddies need to get lotsa sleep since they’re so old.”

Steve reaches out to halfheartedly pinch at Jamie’s sides, making him shriek and squirm away, laughing before Steve even manages to dig his fingers in.

Jamie’s hair falls around his face and brushes against his shoulders, hairband lost in the scuffle, and Steve yawns. “Daddy isn’t old, you’re just young and real little.”

Steve doesn’t miss the way Jamie brightens at that. Hearing those things always made Bucky grimace or roll his eyes. Jamie lights up and wriggles and Steve sees him happily curling his toes.

“No, I think Daddy’s just old.” Jamie pushes, giggling at the mock scowl Steve throws his way.

“Watch it, or this daddy won’t be makin’ any pancakes for breakfast.” He delights in the way Jamie gasps, eyes wide, looking horrified at the very thought that Steve would dare to withhold pancakes.

Jamie dramatically throws himself down next to Steve, looking devastated. “Daddy _no_.”

 

—

 

Steve did end up making pancakes. He made pancakes, and eggs, and bacon, and hash browns, and everything that his little boy pointed to in the fridge with big hopeful eyes. At the end of the day, Jamie was still Bucky, and Bucky needed to eat the same amount as Steve. By the time Steve had finished making breakfast, the kitchen counters were stacked full of food.

Back when they’d been searching for a place to make their home, they’d visited countless buildings throughout New York, and both had their problems with majority of them. Steve didn’t like the dark polished floorboards of one, Bucky hated the floor-to-ceiling windows of another, they’d both grimaced at the apartment that was labelled as _cozy_ but was really just extremely small. They both had problems with extremely small spaces and the idea of having to spend more time than necessary in one had them both on edge throughout the entire tour.

Bucky had approved of the private elevator and the double-floor layout of the apartment they’d chosen, and decided he didn’t much mind the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living space so long as the curtains were always drawn. Steve had fallen in love with the marble countertops and walls in the kitchen and bathrooms.

Almost two years later and they’re both still happy with the place they’d chosen to call home.

Jamie seems pleased as punch with it, as well. He sits in the living room, curled up on one of the lounges, fixated on the large TV. Steve can’t see him from his place in the kitchen, but every so often he hears him gasp or laugh or giggle. Steve had flipped through countless channels before asking FRIDAY to find a show suitable for a kid Jamie’s age, and the screen had settled on something loud and bright with lots of colours.

Steve dishes up their breakfast, balancing the plates as he carries them to the table. “Breakfast is ready, Jamie.”

Jamie makes a discontented noise, turning to Steve with his trademark pout. “I wanna eat it here.”

“No. We eat at the table.” Steve places his hands on his hips and tries to give off a stern aura without seeming too harsh. It’s important for Jamie to have rules, and one of those rules is going to be that they eat at the table.

Jamie’s face scrunches in frustration. “ _No,_ I wanna eat it _here._ ”

Steve sighs. “You can see the screen from here, Jamie. I won’t make you stop watching, but you’re eating up here. Good boys don’t eat on the couch.”

For a moment, Jamie looks ready to argue again. Instead, he huffs, and shuffles his way to the table.

“Thank you, Jamie.” Steve presses a kiss to Jamie’s temple as he drops into one of the chairs. Jamie pouts, but his cheeks are pink, and he shyly glances away from Steve’s fond gaze.

Jamie demolishes his breakfast, legs swinging under the table. At one point, Steve reaches across to tap Jamie’s foot with his own, and Jamie gets so distracted trying to wrestle with their feet that he entirely forgets about his food. Steve reminds him to eat and he grins with a sweet “yes, Daddy.”

Steve usually goes for a run in the mornings, and sometimes Bucky comes with. Today, though, Steve stays in with his sweet boy. Jamie helps with the dishes (he rinses them while Steve stacks them in the dishwasher, and Steve smiles so hard his cheeks ache when he sees the concentrated furrow to Jamie’s brows and the way he sticks the tip of his tongue out of his mouth) after breakfast, and they settle in the living room, where Jamie excitedly explains the plot of the show he’d been watching.

Steve doesn’t really get it — something about a magical princess from another universe who had to learn to control her magic? — but Jamie looks so excited, he knows that he would spend the rest of his life listening to his little boy talk about every episode in excruciating detail if it meant he would keep looking that happy.

At one point, Steve wanders up to their room and comes back down with his art supplies. Jamie absolutely lights up, wiggling excitedly from his place on the floor.

“I’ll buy you some more colors soon, sweetheart.” Steve says apologetically. He’d been overwhelmed with the selection of colored pencils in-store, absolutely baffled as to why one pack of twelve pencils would cost _more_ than a pack of twenty. Google had helped, when he’d gotten home, but by that point he’d already bought the twelve pack.

“Would you like me to place an order for colored pencils, Captain Rogers?” FRIDAY asks. Steve blinks. Jamie is already hunkered down over his page, scribbling away with the blue pencil he’d pulled out of the pack.

“Yeah, that would be great. Something with as many colors as you can? And.....maybe some crayons, too?” Steve briefly thinks of how Jamie had fallen asleep sucking his thumb earlier, and considers asking FRIDAY to order a pacifier as well. He decides to leave it at the pencils and crayons for the time being.

“Of course, Captain Rogers.” There’s a moment of silence, and then FRIDAY says, “The order’s been confirmed. The items will be here within the next twenty-four hours.”

“Thank you, FRIDAY.” Steve picks up a pencil of his own and sets about drawing Jamie while he works on his own drawing.

He draws Jamie as he sees him in front of his eyes; jaw strong under a layer of stubble, grey eyes framed by impossibly long lashes, long hair spilling around his face. Back when Bucky used to work at the docks, he’d come home to Steve as Jamie more often than not, exhausted from the mental and physical effort. Steve would brush his fingers through Jamie’s hair and Jamie would melt into Steve’s touch. Steve wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d filled up countless sketchbooks of Jamie at various ages, always so sweet regardless.

“Can Daddy do your hair, Jamie?” Steve asks when he finishes his sketch. Jamie nods without looking up from his drawing.

Steve uses his fingers to comb through the knots and tangles of his little boy’s hair. Back before the war, he’d only ever been able to play with the soft set of curls that Bucky styled perfectly each day, even when they stayed home and had nothing better to do. The winter of ‘41, Bucky had grown his hair out just a few extra inches; long enough that it swept soft against his forehead and curled around his ears and the base of his neck.

Now, his hair just barely brushes his shoulders. Steve rakes his fingers through the soft locks and drags his nails against Jamie’s scalp and smiles when Jamie sighs a pleased _Daddy_ at the sensation.

“You have such soft hair, baby.” Steve says as he tugs the strands into a loose braid before releasing it and running his fingers through the waves. “Prettiest hair I’ve ever seen.”

Jamie ducks his head shyly, mumbling, “Daddy.”

“And you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen. Pretty as a peach and twice as sweet.” Steve goes on, smiling at the pink flush on Jamie’s cheeks. “You’re a real angel, doll.”

“Love you, Daddy.” Jamie whispers, glancing over his shoulder. Steve presses a kiss to a pink cheek.

The show on the television changes several times while Steve distracts himself with Jamie’s hair, and Jamie eventually holds up the sheet of paper he’d been scribbling away at. Steve leans forward with a curious sound.

“It looks good, baby!”

Jamie wriggles happily, clutching the paper with his left hand as he points at the red-blue-and-white figure. “That’s you! I drew you in your uniform because you always look _really_ strong n’ cool in your uniform!”

Steve rests his chin against Jamie’s shoulder. “Only when I’m in my uniform?”

“No!” Jamie turns to him with wide eyes. “All the time. But like, _extra_ strong and cool in your uniform.”

“Ah, I see.”

Jamie nods, pointing at the smaller figure next to the one he’d drawn of Steve. “That’s me. I’m holding your hand because I love you n’ I like holding your hand.”

“Awww.” Steve presses a kiss to Jamie’s cheek. “Daddy likes holding your hand as well, angel. That’s such a nice drawing — can Daddy put it on the fridge?”

Jamie absolutely lights up at the suggestion. “Yeah! ‘Course!”

Steve kisses Jamie’s cheek again before he heads into the kitchen with the drawing in hand. He has to look through several drawers to find the fruit-shaped magnets Sam had given them, insisting that every house needs stupid fridge magnets to make it a home.

He sticks it smack-bang in the middle of the door, standing back with a proud smile. His baby created something wonderful and he has absolutely no problem with showing it off, even if he and Bucky — and occasionally Jamie — are the only ones to see it.

Steve had always been the artist between the two of them, but Bucky had taken up sketching as well when they were younger, interested in finding out exactly why Steve enjoyed doing what he did. He hadn’t gone to art school like Steve had, or grown up with a pencil in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other, but he’d spent years trying to catch up to Steve’s skill level. The talent shows in Jamie’s drawing, anatomically correct figures holding hands, Steve’s hair shaded in yellow and Jamie’s in black, two pairs of bright blue eyes. Steve feels a swell of pride in his chest for his baby’s talent.

Jamie is hiding a yawn behind his left hand when Steve comes back.

“Tired, sweetheart?” Steve says as he settles in behind Jamie again.

Jamie throws him an absolutely scandalised look, as though horrified by the very suggestion that he might be tired. “No! ‘m not sleepy!”

“Okay, okay!” Steve laughs. Sometimes Jamie’s sleep patterns can be erratic; he stays awake all through the day without a problem or becomes sleepy and grumpy only a few hours after waking up. It’s always good for Steve to keep an eye on him. It’d been harder to make a tired Jamie go to bed, before, when he’d been smaller than Bucky. Now, he knows that he’ll be able to carry his baby to bed if needs be.

Steve settles into the couch, playing with Jamie’s hair while they watch cartoons. At some point Jamie puts down the pencil and leans back against Steve’s legs, making a sleepy sound.

Steve quietly teases, “you sure you aren’t tired?”

Jamie screws up his nose, mumbling “not tired, Daddy” even as he yawns and nuzzles into Steve’s knee.

Another ten minutes pass that way, and the next time Steve checks, Jamie’s passed out against his legs.

Jamie stirs when Steve moves him. “Not _tired_ , Daddy.”

“I know you’re not, pal.” Steve agrees, even as he props him against his hip and carries him up the stairs. Jamie doesn’t do much more than pout and press his face into Steve’s shoulder.

Jamie easily settles into bed when Steve tucks him in with a kiss on the forehead. He mumbles, “curtains” as he rolls onto his side, pulling the blankets with him.

Steve obligingly closes the curtains, shutting out the mid-morning light.

Jamie yawns, eyes scrunching shut. “Daddy, ‘m not tired, really.”

Steve just smiles, cooing, “sleep well, baby, Daddy’ll come check on you in a little bit.”

The only sign that Jamie is still awake to hear is the soft little sound he makes.

 

—

 

“Steve?” Bucky calls out an hour or so later. Steve looks up from the desk in the study, just down the hall from their room.

“In here.” He calls back. Bucky wanders in after a moment. His hair is still wavy and soft around his face, and he rubs sleep from his eyes.

Steve laughs as Bucky suddenly drops into his lap. Bucky manages to squirm himself sideways and bury his head in Steve’s shoulder, yawning.

“Have I got a tired Bucky or a tired boy on my hands?” Steve teases. Bucky huffs, lightly socking him on the arm. Steve barely feels it.

“Thanks, for, y’know. Takin’ care of him.” Bucky mumbles, still hiding away in the safety of Steve’s shoulder.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Steve softens. “Of course. I’m always gonna take care of him, no matter what. As long as he wants me.”

Steve feels Bucky’s smile against the thin sliver of skin between neck and shirt. “You’re his daddy, Steve; he’s always gonna want you.”


End file.
